


like birds of a feather

by skatingsplits



Series: like birds of a feather (we stick together) [1]
Category: Chilling Adventures of Sabrina (TV 2018)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dubious Consent, F/M, Implied/Referenced Mind Control, Power Dynamics, This is Bad, complicated consent issues, do not try this at home, outscheming a schemer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-01
Updated: 2019-07-01
Packaged: 2020-05-31 08:28:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19422253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skatingsplits/pseuds/skatingsplits
Summary: She'd known that something wasn't quite right from the instant their plane took off. Something beyond the obvious, that is. Granted, her nephew's attempted murder of her husband wasn't the most auspicious beginning to a honeymoon but Zelda had expected Faustus to be triumphant. Instead, he's almost silent, barely even acknowledging her presence beyond offering her a distracted smile when she manages to catch his eye. She tells herself that she's being ridiculous; it's the lack of sleep, or perhaps her hatred of flying combining with the day's astronomically stressful events to make her paranoid and irritable. As always when Zelda desperately tries to convince herself that something is true, it doesn't quite work.





	like birds of a feather

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ladyvivien](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyvivien/gifts).



> 1\. A solid 90% of my nasty Spellwood smut is her fault but this one most of all.  
> 2\. This is fucked up, obviously, I don't really know what else to say. Check the tags and heed this warning for just general fuckedupness.

She'd known that something wasn't quite right from the instant their plane took off. Something beyond the obvious, that is. Granted, her nephew's attempted murder of her husband wasn't the most auspicious beginning to a honeymoon but Zelda had expected Faustus to be triumphant, to arrogantly claim his prize the second they were alone together. She wouldn't have even been surprised if he'd ranted and raved, berated her for her family's disobedience and disloyalty all the way to Italy. Instead, he's almost silent, barely even acknowledging her presence beyond offering her a distracted smile when she manages to catch his eye. She tells herself that she's being ridiculous; it's the lack of sleep, or perhaps her hatred of flying combining with the day's astronomically stressful events to make her paranoid and irritable. As always when Zelda desperately tries to convince herself that something is true, it doesn't quite work.

  
That's why, when her husband disappears into the night air with hardly a word, Zelda sets her mind to investigating. Without a shred of guilt, she heads straight for his suitcase and starts rifling through his belongings. There must be something somewhere that will give her at least a clue about Faustus's inexplicable calmness. For a minute, it doesn't seem as though there is; she sorts through countless starched shirts and black robes, unfolding every garment and checking every pocket. She leafs through every book, delicately shaking them out in search of hidden papers or hollowed out pages. It's beginning to seem fruitless. Whatever is going on in Faustus's head, he's apparently been clever enough to keep it there.

  
Or so Zelda thinks until she's taken nearly every item from the case and laid them neatly side by side until only an ornate wooden box is left, buried at the bottom under layers of ties and fountain pens. It's not a familiar object but then again Faustus's chambers at the Academy are so full of miscellaneous antique bibelots that it would practically be the work of a lifetime to memorise them all (and admittedly, for most of the time Zelda has spent in those chambers, she's been a little too distracted to focus on the ornaments). Painfully aware that this is her last resort, she gingerly lifts the lid and finds herself unable to do anything but stare. Inside is a tiny, spinning ballerina, dancing to a tinkling tune that seems vaguely familiar. Presumably this is some kind of gift for her and, although she thought Faustus knew that her taste in presents ran more towards expensive liquor than delicate trinkets, for a moment, Zelda is almost touched. Puzzled, but touched. Until a horrible, sickening feeling begins to swell in her stomach, as though her body has realised something before her mind has managed to catch up. There's something fighting its way to the surface of her thoughts, something she hasn't thought about in centuries and can't quite grasp...

  
Until she does. The memory is clear, clearer than it should be after more decades than she can count. They'd been visiting a friend of her father's, somewhere in the English countryside, another High Priest. Edward had just had his Dark Baptism, all of their parents' friends were tripping over themselves to fawn over him, so she must have been twelve, Hilda barely seven. And it wasn't that Zelda hadn't enjoyed the holiday; she liked England, liked their host's populous, prosperous coven even more. There was merely one aspect of their visit that had been unsettling enough to stick in Zelda's memory; the High Priest’s wife. Initially, she'd thought the woman was just a simpleton. She certainly wasn't the first witch Zelda had met who did nothing but simperingly agree with her husband, particularly if that husband happened to be a High Priest. But it hadn't taken her long to realise that this woman was more than merely a cowed spouse; her smile had been unnerving, too wide and bright and never faltering once. The reason for this intensely obedient femininity had become apparent after dinner one night when the two High Priests had what Zelda knew to be too much brandy. The conversation became gradually coarser and louder until, with a rambunctious laugh, their host had risen from his armchair and explained the secret of his successful marriage. Placing an ornately carved music box in Edward's lap, he'd filled her brother in on exactly what one would do to transform a witch from a nagging harridan into a sweet-tempered, thoughtful, womanly wife. It was for their own good, he'd explained, placing a possessive arm around his smiling spouse's waist. They were happier that way, life was so much easier for them. When Edward grew up, the boy would thank him for the tip off.

  
Whatever her brother's faults, he evidently hadn't felt insecure enough in his relationship with Diana to follow that particularly odious advice. Apparently, the same couldn't be said for Faustus. Trying her very best to quell the rising tide of pure panic and righteous fury inside her, Zelda knew she needed to think of something quickly. The most tempting course of action would be to smash the thing into a million pieces and cut her groom's throat with one of the shards but it wouldn't be the wisest. Murdering him now would get her nowhere, would make the struggle and sacrifice of the past few months completely irrelevant; Ambrose would still be executed, one of Faustus's tedious Judas boys would no doubt step up as High Priest and the Spellmans would be sent right back to the bottom of the barrel. She has the upper hand now, it would be so foolish not to take advantage of it. Faustus wants a demure, biddable little nothing for a wife? She'll give him one.

  
xxxxxxxxxx

  
It's late when Faustus finally makes his reappearance in their ostentatious hotel room and Zelda is dressed for bed, languorously smoking a cigarette on soft satin sheets. Despite the cigarette smoke, he comes to her immediately and presses a hard, possessive kiss to her mouth.

  
“Zelda, I know we have much to discuss" he murmurs, a hand brushing through her artfully arranged curls. She hums in agreement, her face as devoid of any emotion as she can make it. “But perhaps tomorrow, hmm? I see no reason for us not to enjoy our wedding night.” The hand in her hair comes down to cup her jaw, bringing her towards him for another, longer kiss and when she breaks it, Faustus is smiling. “Besides, my darling, I have a gift for you.”

  
The breath catches in Zelda's throat. He certainly isn't wasting any time.

  
“How remiss of me, I didn't get you anything" she says dryly, tossing her hair over her shoulder. Faustus merely laughs, standing straight and with a snap of his fingers, his perfectly repacked suitcase comes sliding over from the corner of the room. When he bends to retrieve the so-called present, Zelda seizes the opportunity to take a deep, steadying breath, praying harder than she ever has that the protection charm she placed upon herself is strong enough to withstand a Caligari spell. Without question, her magic is usually powerful enough for such a spell to ward off the most vitriolic of hexes but the unfortunate fact is that she isn't the only excessively powerful one in this marriage. There's a bitter irony in knowing that if Faustus wasn't skilled enough to cast a spell that could put her entire personhood in danger, she would never have married him in the first place.

  
He places the box on the bedside table and, with a thumping in her chest, Zelda stands to open it. Her husband's arms encircle her as she does and his mouth scatters lazy kisses on her throat as she lifts the lid. That tinny little tune begins to play again and Zelda is about to turn, play up her confusion at such an uncharacteristic gift when Faustus begins to murmur an incantation she doesn't recognise, Latin she can only hear snatches of. Zelda stays stock still, hoping against hope that he won't be able to sense that his enchantment has been blocked. For once, it seems that the Dark Lord is on her side; when he's finished his little ritual, he turns her around and is met with a blank, beaming face that makes him exhale with relief.  
Again, he cards his hand through her hair, examining her face and Zelda doesn't think she's imagining that the movement is far more gentle than he usually is. Perhaps he's worried that their usual roughness would be more than such a fragile creature as he thinks he's made her could take. Regardless, when he steps back to admire his handiwork, Faustus seems perfectly satisfied with the job he's done.

  
“Put your present away, sweetheart” his manner is blasé, self-assured, but when she turns to do as she's told, another sigh of relief is perfectly audible. Zelda bends to hide the horrible object away in the bottom drawer of the huge oak chest, knowing how high her nightgown will ride up when she does. True to form, Faustus's hands immediately come to roam over her thighs, up to her backside and squeeze, soft flesh pliable under his fingers. Satan knows, there's never been a more surefire way of keeping him distracted while she figures out what to do next.

xxxxxxxxxx

  
She's not even close to her peak when the jerk of her husband's hips becomes more forceful and erratic and she knows from decades of experience that he's not much more than a thrust away from an orgasm.

  
“You're mine, aren't you, darling?” He rasps into her ear, his hands barely seeming to stay in one place for more than a second as he fucks her into the mattress. Although she'd been completely correct thinking that sex was the most efficient method of distracting her bridegroom, Zelda had been wrong in assuming that it would give her much time to gather her thoughts. Every moment, she's having to desperately think what a woman under this spell would do, without letting anything but rapture show on her face. The safest bet seems to try and be exactly what Faustus would want, would fantasize about. Foolishly, she'd always assumed he got off on her being as greedy, selfish, wild as he was but evidently not; selfishness, in or out of the bedroom, wasn't something a Caligari spell left any room for. She's settled on making as much noise as possible, delighted little gasps and sighs, like a virgin learning how to touch herself for the first time, sounds that are a world away from the usual wild abandon she gives herself over to. Truthfully, it feels like she's overdoing it but it certainly seems to be working; she should have known that most of this charade would involve stroking his ego.

  
“Of course, darling.” Making her voice as sweet as sugar is easy, but the words themselves don't come so smoothly. Sexually speaking, Faustus has never really struck her as the possessive type. In fact, if his behaviour at coven orgies is anything to go by, he's very fond of sharing. This apparent need to own her is a new development, and a frightening one.

  
“Tell me how good it feels, Zelda" the strain in his voice is obvious, his hand's tight grasping at her tit even more so. It takes all the restraint she has not to roll her eyes.

  
“It feels wonderful, husband. So wonderful, you're so big, you're stretching me out so perfectly" for half a second, Zelda thinks she's taken it too far; a witch under this spell wouldn't have the capacity to say anything as stimulating as that, she's fairly sure. But, thank the Dark Lord, Faustus is too distracted to notice. He groans so loudly into her hair that she'll be surprised if his throat isn't raw and despite every sensible bone in her body screaming otherwise, the combination of his grunts of pleasure, his rough mauling of her flesh and the familiar sensation of him coming inside her has her buzzing with arousal.

  
“Pour me a drink, darling” he says lazily when he's done, rolled over onto his back with his breathing still laboured and one hand idly caressing her thigh, and Zelda thinks she's had enough of playing this game. Fucking him is one thing, playing maidservant is quite another. She knows what her plan is now and even if waiting might be slightly more prudent, she can't wait to see the look on his face (there's also a not-insignificant part of her that just desperately needs to come, and it seems unlikely that a Caligaried trophy wife is allowed to fuck herself.)

  
“Pour your own drink, my love" she keeps her voice sugary sweet as she moves to straddle her husband, so much so that her actual words don't seem to hit him for a moment. When they do, he just frowns, obviously perplexed by the sudden inefficacy of his spellwork.

  
“I said get me a drink, Zelda" he says more firmly, his hands snaking up to her hips regardless. “Be a good girl, hmm?”

  
“I heard you, Faustus” Zelda starts moving, wantonly grinding against him as she speaks. If he doesn't even have the decency to make her come when he uses her body, the bastard can bloody well suffer while she does it herself. “I knew you weren't the brightest bulb in the box, darling, but did you really convince yourself that you were clever enough to pull this off? I hadn't realised that you wanted such a... biddable little toy for a wife."

  
She shifts so that her clit is rubbing up against his hipbone and moans, the kind of whimpering sound that her enchanted alter ego might make. It's a testament to how stunned her husband must be that he's frozen in place, not even moving when she brings her hands up to cup her own breasts, the only thing indicating he's actually still alive and kicking the increasingly horrified expression on his face. Knowing Faustus, and Zelda knows that she does, he probably hadn't even considered the possibility that things wouldn't go exactly the way he wanted. Typical.

  
"I thought you liked me when I was bad" she purrs, pasting a plaintive pout on her face. "Aren't you always telling me what a good whore I make?"

  
“Zelda...” her husband laughs a shaky, nervous laugh and tries to sit up, to shift her off him, undoubtedly to try and talk his way out of the situation he has brought upon himself but Zelda has no intention of letting him do any such thing. She slams a hand against his chest, keeping him in place and knocking the wind out of his sails into the bargain. If she wanted to, she could bind him beneath her with a spell (and it wouldn't be half of what he deserves) but there's something strangely satisfying about knowing that the only thing restraining him is her own sheer force of will.

  
She drops her head to scrape her teeth along his collarbone and, despite everything, can feel his cock stirring against her thigh yet again. “Or was I wrong? Do you want a lifeless ragdoll for a wife? Perhaps I misjudged you. I thought I was marrying a man who could keep up with me. Apparently not.”

  
“Zelda, for the sake of the coven...” is all he manages to get out before she slaps him, hard, across the face and the rest of his words are swallowed as he grunts, his own hips thrusting upwards against her.

  
“Don't lie to me, Faustus. If you gave a damn about the coven, or about anything but yourself, you would know that nothing could be better for them than a High Priest with a wife like a me. It's my own fault, of course. I thought I was attaching myself to an equal when evidently I've made the mistake of marrying an inferior" Zelda sneers, knowing that she's pushing his most sensitive button. She's proved right when Faustus snarls and, with a move she anticipates just a second too late, grabs her hard and flings her to the side, pressing his weight on top of her until she's crushed against the mattress.

  
“Think you're clever, do you, sweetheart?” There's not even a fraction of a millimetre between their bodies and Zelda can feel quite clearly that he's as hard as she is wet. That's reassuring; she knows him well enough to be sure that he's not going to try any other funny tricks until he's had his release. It's a trait she's always despaired of but she suddenly finds herself very grateful that her husband does most of his thinking with his cock.

  
“Yes, as a matter of fact. Cleverer than you, anyhow.” She bites at his jaw, earning herself another grunt and a strong hand pinning both of her own up above her head. She's about to explain exactly why this is the case when he suddenly thrusts inside her and her train of thought is completely diverted. It doesn't help that his wicked grin when she moans is almost as arousing as the hard press of him inside her.

  
“Then perhaps you'll be able to tell me what's to stop me from trying again? Having a wife who's loyalties aren't divided? Who does as she's fucking told?” His free hand slowly creeps up around her throat but when she gasps, it's not because her airways are constricted.

  
“You know, all you had to do was ask” she purrs, greedily rocking her hips up to get him deeper inside her. “You want me to play the obedient little sex doll in public, darling? I think I can manage that.” She slips back into her affected sugary voice and doesn't miss the way his eyes darken. So predictable. “Oh, His Excellency is a marvellous lover, I ache so much I can hardly walk. Yes, Father Blackwood, I'll get on my knees and show your friends what a very good girl I am. Tea and a blowjob, every time 4 o'clock rolls around.”

  
“And why would you do that?” He obviously doesn't believe a word of it but that hasn't stopped his hips from jerking into her harder and or harder, or the grip of his hand around her wrists from becoming so bruising that even a glamour won't cover it entirely.

  
“Because you're going to let me decide what goes on in the Church of Night, my love. You're going to come to me with all your little problems and you're going to listen when I tell you how to solve them" her nails raking hard over his scalp, Zelda pulls him to her in a kiss that's more teeth than anything else and, when she pulls back, yanks viciously at his hair for good measure. “And what's more, you're going to like it. Oh, your life is going to be so easy, Faustus, far easier than you deserve. All you have to do is stand at the altar and look pretty.”

  
Faustus merely scoffs but as he does so, he grabs at her left leg and pulls it over his shoulder, the muscles in Zelda's thigh straining deliciously as he pounds into her. His other hand grasps at her chin until she looks him in the eye. “I'm curious to know why you think I'm going to let a filthy little slut run ragged over the Church.”

  
“There's one doing exactly that right now" she retorts, nipping hard at Faustus's fingertips and smirking when he groans. As quickly as she can, Zelda rolls them over; she loses the high ground a little with a needy whimper when his cock slips out of her that makes him hum but soon regains it when she sinks back down onto him and he grunts out her name, hands instantly gravitating to her arse where one delivers a forceful blow that evokes another whimper from her lips.

  
“Don't tell me you want a lifetime without this" Zelda croons, her low voice a definite contrast to the sharpness of her nails digging into Faustus's shoulders. The index and middle fingers of her right hand come away stained red and without a second thought, she pops them into her mouth, lapping hungrily at her husband's blood. As she'd known he would, Faustus moans her name again, the muscles in his jaw tautening.

“Nobody knows you like I do, Faustus. You want a wife who spreads her legs for you because she wants to, not because she has to. You want a partner who can deal with all that daily tedium that's so beneath you. You want a woman who knows how selfish, arrogant and corrupt you are and wants you anyway.”

  
Her voice increasingly thready with every word she spoke, Zelda’s hips move faster and faster, her fingers dancing an erratic dance over her clit. “Say yes, husband,” she purrs, feeling her cunt starting to flutter around his cock and swiping her nails over his chest in a frenzied attempt to stay anchored in reality and not drift into mindless pleasure.

  
The first noise out of Faustus's mouth as he pulls her down to bite at her neck, her jaw, her mouth, any part of her he can reach is an unintelligible, animalistic groan but the second is clearly a “yes”, as are the third, the fourth and the fifth and Zelda's cunt is clenching so hard that she's fairly sure that she's screaming but her head is too full of the intensity of ecstasy to pay any attention. She isn't even aware that she's still moaning until her husband's hands lift her off him and deposit her beside him on the bed, her thighs aching and sticky.

  
Her breathing not quite regular, Zelda keeps her eyes on Faustus until he meets her gaze. Guilt is written on his face as plainly as can be but when he opens his mouth to speak, Zelda cuts him off with a sharp wave of the hand.

  
“I have no interest in your apologies" she says coolly. “Just know that if you ever attempt to treat me like your possession again, not only will I outwit you, again, but rest assured that you'll only just live long enough to realise how very stupid you've been and not a second longer. Understood?”

  
Faustus merely nods, lifting her hand to his mouth to press a kiss there that is all the reconciliation she cares to experience. Zelda isn't foolish enough to think that she can trust him, no more than she did in the first place but she knows that, this idiocy aside, Faustus isn't stupid. He's seen enough of her wrath directed at other people to know that she isn't even slightly bluffing and above all else, he's always had a very strong instinct for self-preservation.

  
Besides, as she'd said, he wouldn't believe how easy his life was about to become. After all, a burden shared is a burden halved and it would be _so_ remiss of her not to take on her fair share of wifely duties. It certainly wasn't her fault that Faustus was going to need so much help...


End file.
